


Coming back home

by esther81828



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esther81828/pseuds/esther81828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**AU Story, so no story spoiling :D</p>
<p>Alby didn't remember the beginning of the fight at all. Arguments and fights were some normal parts in a relationship, he knew that; but there was a great distance between knowing and reacting right, and unfortunately, Alby wasn't known for his reasonableness and politeness. He only remembered that it was some ridiculously small thing that got them into the fight, and what was it, he had no idea. And to be honest, it didn't really matter right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming back home

**Author's Note:**

> Another piece of writing here. it's been a long time since the last time i wrote a Nalby fanfic, so it was a little unfamiliar to me...  
> Hope you guys like it :D

Rain was pouring down as Alby slammed shut the gate of their apartment. The rain was heavy and rushing, very un-California; the raindrops falling on Alby’s head made his skin feel stabbing. Yeah, great, it had to be raining right now to make him feel worse, as if even God thought it was his fault that they had that stupid fight.

In fact, he didn't remember the beginning of the fight at all. Arguments and fights were some normal parts in a relationship, he knew that; but there was a great distance between knowing and reacting right, and unfortunately, Alby wasn't known for his reasonableness and politeness. He only remembered that it was some ridiculously small thing that got them into the fight, and what was it, he had no idea. And to be honest, it didn't really matter right now. 

All he did was tossing up his hands and told Newt that he had had enough, and then he rushed out of their apartment, leaving the fight suspended in the air. 

And now there was this fucking rain hitting his head, and he had nowhere else to go. He had exiled himself, and he wasn't in the mood to duck back into the hallway and return home to face Newt and the unresolved problem.

He could still see the look on Newt's face when he left. There were anger, pain and disappointment, all mixed together. And Alby hate especially the disappointment. He never knew how to deal with it, because it would involve too many explains, too much talking, and Alby never really good at talking. Ten times of their fights, nine point nine times he would end up repeating something like "So what d'you want? So what d'you want from me?" And it was kind of embarrassing, because that kind of line was what you used when you actually had nothing better to say. It only would prove one thing, that he was the loser, he was the one to be talked over.

But then again, what was the point to win in a fight with Newt? When he thought into this, he couldn't find the answer. Beating Newt only meant that he was louder, but it didn't mean he had the point. And Newt would merely give him that look, the look that saying he was pathetic, that he was the kind of person who only care about his own emotion problem and was more than willing to ignore the importance of communication.

And the most exasperating thing was that Newt always knew that he was right. Alby couldn't convince himself to deny the fact.

Anyway. He had to resolve the immediate problem first. Where could be his hideout right now?

The rain became fiercer and fiercer, so Alby’s steps broke into a run. He rushed along the sidewalk outside the blocks of the cheap-rented apartments, and when he finally came to a halt, he found himself before the front steps of a bar named Bill’s Workshop. Alby had been here once, maybe twice, with his colleagues. He was surely not a drinker, but yeah, he would like to use some alcohol as distraction now. 

The bar was a mile away from their apartment, and Alby was all soaking when he got there. The drops falling from his pants made him want to punch something, so he shoved open the wooden door of the bar with extra strength and let it swung shut behind him. The crashing sound made the four or five men sitting by the bar counter turn to glare at him. Once he got inside, the air stinking of men’s sweat and alcohol stroke him in the face.

“There, relax, man,” The bartender rose up one hand. “Shitty day, huh?”

“Kind of.” Alby mumbled, walking over toward the counter.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you feel,” the bartender sound sincere and genuine, “a weather like this, makes chicks turn into bitches. No offense there, man, and don’t get me wrong, I love my own wife, really, but she just gave me a fucking difficult time before I headed toward here. By heading toward, I mean she just kicked my ass out of our house.”

“Yeah, right.” Alby answered. He wasn’t in a talky mood, and so he turned his attention to his shirt and tried to wring the water out of the fabric. 

“So what do you want?” the bartender asked. “Beer? Gin? Martini?”

“Martini. Double.” Alby said. 

He should have known better than getting drunk when he was in such a bad temper. When the alcohol gradually hit in his neurons, he had forgotten why he was here in the first place. What was left was a vague, grey emotion, throbbing behind his head. The feeling of punching something grew stronger and more dangerous, and he couldn’t be able to hold it back when one of those men started to say something trashy. So unsurprisingly, he grabbed his glass and threw it toward the guy. 

And it just happened all at once. It was kind of a montage, the fight. All that shouting, yelling and swinging fist were from some distant place, surreal, all in extra slow motion, and when a fist connecting with Alby’s chin, it suddenly became more than reality. He tried to fight back, to teach him a lesson, but who he was to teach anyone a lesson? He swung, but the shot was too short, and suddenly he was falling, he unable to tell falling forward or backward, and then he collapsed in a pile of stools by the counter and he couldn’t even force himself to stand up. 

And the next thing he knew was standing outside of the bar, the bartender standing beside him and talking gently and friendly, telling him to chill out a bit, to go home and make it up with his wife, and he won’t charge him anything for breaking his glass and three stools, and Alby about to tell him he didn’t even have a wife but just a boyfriend. The breath of the bartender smelled and made him want to puke. 

So he started to head home. The rain had reduced into a drizzle, and it was strangely cold out there. Or maybe he was just too drunk to tell the temperature. And the afterthought had finally hit in when he almost reached the gate of their apartment. He, Alby, was a jerk, who was unable to control his own temper, unable to be reasonable, unable to handle what was going on around him and only want to escape from the reality, and eventually unable to prevent himself from falling right back into it.

His eyes dazzled due to the effect of the wine, and he couldn’t put the key inside the hole. So he rang the doorbell, but the sound of buzzing seemed to last longer than it should be. 

The door cracked open, and Newt’s face showed up by it.

“What the—” Newt paused, staring at him.

“Well. I’m home.” Alby said dully.

Newt pushed the door wider to let him in without another word.

“Where have you been?” Newt asked behind him.

“Huh, what?” Alby mumbled.

“For god’s sake,” Newt rushed toward him and grabbed his shoulder, making him turn to him. “What’s that on your forehead?”

That was when Alby suddenly felt the stabbing pain, stinging on the right side of his head. He robbed his fingers across it, a little too hard, and then he cursed under his breath.

“Looked for some troubles, don’t you.” Newt said. It was not a question. “How mature you are.”

Alby slumped into the sofa, soaking clothes pasting on his skin, warm and sticky. He unbuttoned his shirt—or at least, tried to unbutton it. His fingers seemed to be twice bigger, and the buttons seemed to be twice smaller, and he couldn’t even found the right way to push it through the hole. 

He groaned in frustration. 

And, hell, what was wrong with his fucking forehead. 

“Sit tight.” Newt ordered, then disappear into the room. 

He got the emergency box with him as he reemerged, and Alby looked at him through blurring gaze. He couldn’t see clearly what was the look on Newt’s face, but when Newt took off the shirt for him, his action seemed gentle enough. Newt threw the wet shirt and tank-top on the ground in a messy pile, and asked him to lie down.

Alby followed his words, since he couldn’t find any other thing to do.

Newt used a towel to stab around the hurting part of his head, and he winced as Newt touched a particular spot.

“Shit,” he murmured. “It hurts.”

“Sure it is, idiot.” Newt answered calmly. “What did you do to get such a cut on your head?”

“Nothing,” Alby said. “Just some stupid fuckers in the bar.”

“Yeah, sure.” Newt said, “Dear, you’ve been beaten up real nice there.”

Alby made a grudging sound as an answer.

“Well, thank the anonymous guy in that bar.”

“What?”

“He kicked your ass for me.” Newt said with a half-smile on his face.

And the fight before he went out finally got back to him. Although he still couldn’t recall the exact reason why, he at least knew one thing to do.

“Sorry,” he said, “Ya know, about the fight before—”

But Newt cut him off. “Yeah, not now,” he said. “Don’t apologize before you know what for, especially not when you’re wasted. The ‘sorry’ is not the point.”

Alby narrowed his eyes, but the image of Newt was still a smear of bright colors. 

“We’ll figure it when you get sober.” Newt said.

He stood up after cleaning up the wound, and before he left, he tapped on the top of Alby’s head twice. And before Alby dozed off, he reminded himself why he loved Newt in the first place: Newt was reasonable, calm and tender. He was the one who keep it from falling apart when Alby was losing it. He was just like an anchor to bring him back. Whenever he needed it.

And then he fell asleep.


End file.
